


honey, I laugh when it sinks in

by lovespring



Series: small death and codeine [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Amputee Bucky Barnes, Bottom Steve Rogers, Coming Untouched, Dirty Talk, Dirty Talking Bucky Barnes, Dom/sub, Friends to Lovers, Humiliation, Kinda, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Mutual Pining, Overstimulation, Pet Names, Praise Kink, Top Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-03-26 06:24:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19000153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovespring/pseuds/lovespring
Summary: The point of the conversation wasn't actually to have sex with Bucky. But even, as it’s building towards the inevitable, he knows it happens like most other dumb things he’s done: because of alcohol, and because he’s an idiot who’s been in love with his best friend since they kissed that one time in seventh grade.Or,Sometimes a guy just needs to get fucked but when a guy looks like Steve Rogers that’s apparently an issue.





	honey, I laugh when it sinks in

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Peggy Carter, The Greatest Innovator of the 20th Century](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18317864) by [villamaux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/villamaux/pseuds/villamaux). 



It’s not quite sexual frustration - he knows what that feels like, and this isn’t it. He’s not getting laid a lot but enough for both Sam and Bucky to call him out on it when he does. “Feisty,” Sam says, poking the claw marks on the back of Steve’s neck when they’re in the gym, and Bucky gives that subdued little laugh he has when they’re with other people. His friends are assholes, it’s fine. “You gonna call them back?”

He’s not gonna call them back. Because he’s learnt, through dating apps and whoever usually sidles up next to him when they’re out, that there’s not exactly a shortage of people who want to sleep with him. Which he would never say out loud, because it’s perhaps the douchiest and most embarrassing statement in the world - but it’s true and most of the messages he gets range from hopeful and see-through to downright filthy. So it’s fine. It’s not sexual frustration, and the people he’s with are always honest about their needs, and respectful too, because he has critical thought even for one-night stands but sometimes - sometimes -

Sometimes a guy just needs to get fucked and when a guy looks like Steve Rogers that’s apparently an issue.

He lost his virginity in freshman year of college, to a girl in his political science class. They’d dated for a while, and she was wonderful, and the sex was great - she had this red-white smile and brown curls and a softly held, brutal dominant streak that made Steve shudder apart and fall to pieces. and a year into their relationship she’d broken out a strapon and Steve’s universe had exploded. So maybe he should blame Peggy Carter, secondhand, for his not-at-all-sexual-frustration.

There are people who are into it. Apps for it, straight women who get off on being overpowering - mean, pretty boys on grindr who apparently really go for bending dudes like Steve in half, hashtags like jock4jock or whatever. But it quickly gets weird and fetishistic, filled with degrading dirty talk that Steve can’t fucking handle hearing from people who don’t know him at all. He knows that if he ever brought it up Sam would throw something after him or laugh, so yes, luxury problem, but he can feel the sexual frustration when he’s out, when his eyes land on dudes at the gym - and because he’s hopeless, when he sees Bucky, wet from the shower, or working out, or smiling at him.

Or not sexual frustration. Intensified, specified horniness. Whatever.

 

 **I**  

The instigating action to the inevitable breaking point happens in their apartment. It’s Saturday - or early Sunday, technically - and Sam has just left, and Steve is enough drinks down and enough hours into the other side of midnight that he can feel a loose, comfortable simmer in his body, the flush on his cheeks. The lights in their apartment are dimmed, a soft yellow. He hums happily and lets his head rolls back on the couch. Next to him, Bucky’s quiet, which isn’t uncommon so Steve has no defense against what’s coming.

“Nice hickey, Rogers.” He says and Steve’s head snaps up so he can throw an accusatory look at Bucky next to him - Bucky, who’s hiding a smile against the neck of his beer bottle. “Kinda looks like the ones I used to get in junior high.”

“Oh, come on.” Bucky grins, probably real fucking happy with Steve’s squirming. Hickeys that high are little juvenile, but Steve’s really not gonna say no when someone puts their teeth on him. He picks up his own bottle just to have something to do. “Bite me.” He says, because he and Bucky have their own grown-up apartment and real, grown-up jobs and real, grown-up friends they see for drinks and video games on weekends but that doesn’t mean their rhetoric has changed that much since they met.

Bucky just waves a hand, gets a little more comfortable on the couch. He spent ages picking this stupid couch when they first moved in, wanted something perfect to sit in - like it’s his throne, with his legs spread and one arm over the back of it, relaxed and controlling like he only ever is with Steve, body-language open and lax and mouth-watering. “Sorry, sorry.” He doesn’t sound sorry. “Were they any good?” He asks, and ducks his head a little to look at Steve under his eyelashes. Steve clears his throat. He’s fine with talking about sex - _if you can’t talk about it, you shouldn’t be having it_ \- but Bucky makes it difficult, those shining eyes directed at him, and the teasing, so much different, somehow, than when Sam’s doing it or even than when Sam’s around. It’s possible Steve is just hung up. Maybe he should blame Bucky for his not-at-all-sexual-frustration too.

“He was - yeah, he was great.” He ends up saying, eloquently, and he was. Dark eyes and smooth skin, a great smile - and he talked a lot, when Steve kissed up his inner thighs and fumbled for the lube, had a clear direction in his voice, which was good, which he liked. And it’s not like being ridden into the mattress is a hardship, but Steve misses - he’s missing - “Put his phone number in my pocket before I left and everything.” He moves so he’s facing Bucky, sitting up a little. Bucky smiles curiously, not really teasing.

“I’m assuming you’re not gonna call this one either.”

Steve says, “Not looking to date right now, Buck. Another?” and points towards Bucky’s empty bottle. He takes it when it’s held out to him. On slightly wobbly legs, he puts the two on the kitchen counter, uncaps two new ones from the fridge, and goes back to the couch while Bucky makes vague gestures with both hands.

“Who said anything about dating? Sounds exhausting, finding new people to screw around with every time you get the urge.”

Steve picks at the label of the cold bottle, fingers rubbing through the condensation. His eyelids are droopy, and his entire body feels warm. “People rarely have anything worth sticking around for, you know? They all want the same thing.” Bucky arches his eyebrows, makes a humming sound, and Steve sighs. “They all want me to fuck them.” Bucky doesn’t really choke on his beer, and doesn’t spew it out either, but his breath hitches a little and his laugh afterwards sounds rough, like something got caught in his throat. He smiles at Steve, lips red and slick in the low light.

“God, I love you when you’re drunk.” Steve pulls his legs up on the couch, pressing his toes into Bucky’s thigh.

“I don’t love you at all, ever, actually.” Bucky smiles and puts his bottle on the low table in front of them, so he can put his hand on Steve’s ankle. 

“Of course.” He says. “What’s wrong with people wanting to get fucked?” He asks, and Steve groans, embarrassed and hot.

He fumbles. “ Nothing. There’s nothing wrong with it. It’s nice, I’m not being ungrateful.”

Bucky squeezes around his ankle. “I know, pal. I’m surprised you don’t send people gift baskets just to be nice.” He thinks back on Peggy Carter, and how she made him beg for it, the breathy _thankyouthankyouthankyou_ she could get out of him if he was desperate enough, and shivers in the warm air.

“It’s just not what I prefer. And I miss it, you know?” Bucky looks like he doesn’t know, or doesn’t understand what he’s talking about, so Steve rubs an impatient hand over his eyes where the skin is blooming, hot to touch. “Being on the bottom.” He says. “Getting fucked.” There’s silence, of course. No reaction for a few seconds, and then the hand on his ankle tightens, just a little.

Bucky’s voice is quiet. “What do you miss about it?” Steve breathes in sharply, takes his hand off his face. Bucky’s looking at him with that quiet intensity, his eyes carefully blank but focused, uncompromising. Steve shrugs.

“Giving up control.” It’s an easy one. “Letting someone else take care of things.” When he’s on his back, yes, but also just - “The. The feeling. The physical feeling of it.”

Bucky blinks - just once, and slowly, so his eyelashes flutter on his way down, soft shadows against his cheekbones. “The feeling of what?”

“Bucky - “

“Why do you like the feeling, Steve?” This isn’t weird, he tells himself. He’s known Bucky for more than ten years, they’ve talked about sex before.Never like this, something inside him says, never with his hands on you like that, and his eyes like that, never when the air is this warm, it’s never felt like this. Yes. Well. Whatever. “How’s it feel?”

Steve wants to say _you know how it feels,_ but it’s difficult to be snarky. “Full.” is what he says instead, looking Bucky in the eye. “It feels full. I like that.” It’s Bucky’s turn to suck in a breath, sharp and audible between his lips, and his hand starts moving, his little finger rubbing little circles on Steve’s ankle.

“Have a hard time imagining that no one wants to give you that.”

“There are - some people want to. But most of the time no, and when they do it’s weird. Difficult to be vulnerable with people you don’t know.” Bucky makes a humming noise, and looks down to where his finger is stroking the skin of Steve’s ankle. He looks like he’s thinking, considering, and when he looks up again his eyes seem darker than before in the light. Low-lidded and heavy.

He says, “What if it was someone you knew?” And before Steve can ask what he means he says “Could you be vulnerable like that if it was with someone you knew?”

And. Okay. Steve isn’t a fucking idiot. He knows what’s going on - the context clues are not hiding a lot from him. The heady buzz of excitement in his stomach, the change of atmosphere - like a spiked fever pitch in temperature, the tension real and tangible in the air between them. The slight part of Bucky’s lips (he keeps wetting them, tongue tip gliding over glistening skin to rest in the corner of his mouth.) The drop of his eyes, the rise and fall of his chest, his _voice_ , dipping down and scratching against some dark and gravelly. Steve can gather his own conclusion from the evidence. But of course he has to ask.

“You offering out of pity, Buck?” His voice doesn’t waver. Bucky might not have to do more than smile and run a hand through that hair to seduce him, but he can hold his own - he deserves an honest answer. Bucky smiles, white and sharp in the semi-darkness, but his eyes don’t look that amused.

“Sure.” Bucky drawls, voice heavy with sarcasm. “Why else would I wanna have sex with you, Stevie.” Well. That’s an answer. His finger glides under the hem of Steve’s pants and he keeps smiling, softer now, looking Steve over with his stupid, _stupid_ bedroom eyes. “Pretty self-less of me, when you think about it.” He says, and Steve laughs, the tension shaking in his shoulders. “Offering my service to you like this, pro bono and everything.”

Steve nods his head, mindlessly grinning. “Yeah, you wouldn’t even get anything out of it.” Bucky’s other fingers tickle their way up Steve’s ankle now, pressing in.

“We’re gonna talk about this tomorrow.” Bucky says, voice a little hazy - with sleep, or alcohol, or, Steve thinks, his stomach squirming, arousal. “We should probably go to bed now, but. Hey. Rogers.”

“Yeah?”

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yeah.”

 

 

**II**

When morning rolls around, it feels a little like business meeting. They’re sitting in the couch, farther apart than the night before. After the kiss, Steve had taken a thorough - thorough - shower and gone to bed, buzzing and hard and mind running with a million different things. Doubt about doing it, if it would be the right thing but ultimately - ultimately, they would bounce back if anything went wrong. There’s no reality where they don’t stick together.

They have a late breakfast on the couch, fruit and yoghurt and orange juice. There’s already nerves making their cheeks color but Steve is so fucking excited that nothing else matters. Bucky’s been inching towards him for a few minutes, and he’s asking sweet, honest questions and Steve answers, making it clear what he wants. 

“You ever have a steady doing this for you?” Is one of them, inevitably. Steve isn’t sure if he wants to say anything to that, but he feels his face heat up at the question and Bucky makes a pleased little hum in his throat. “That looks like a yes. Anyone I know?”

“You, uh.” A smile. “You remember Peggy? She’s in England now, but - “

“Holy shit.” Bucky leans back, away from his slow crawl towards Steve on the couch. “God, I fucking knew that girl was special.”

“Yeah - “

“Jesus christ, I’m gonna be thinking about that for a year now, thank you. Fierce little miss Carter, huh. She was always good at putting dudes in their place.” Steve breathes out and nods, and Bucky’s smile goes a little softer, more private. “She put you in your place, as well?” A nod, fond most of all. “Tell me about it.”

Steve mirrors Bucky on the couch, one foot on his knee. “She had strapons. Six inches was what we used most, eight inches as well. She taught me how to suck dick, so that was nice of her.”

Bucky makes another little hum and his eyes flutter. “Bet you look great while doing that.” He says, and Steve groans, rubs a hand over his eyes. There’s a laugh, quiet and embarrassed. “Sorry, Stevie, sorry. I’ll be good.”

Steve continues. “She had vibrators, too.” He grins at Bucky’s strangled noise and continues. “Uh, I liked being on my back, or my hands and knees. She liked that too, and she’d - she liked it when I was on my stomach, and she’d sit on top of me.”

“Fuck, yes. Gets real tight that way.”

“Bucky.”

“Jesus, fuck, sorry, I know, I’m sorry. Listen, uh - what goes?” Steve looks up, and Bucky makes an uncertain shrugging motion. He looks like he’s forcing himself to be serious. “What can I do, what can’t I do - do we need safewords?”

Steve shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so. Stop when I say stop, but I like - I like getting pushed.” Bucky nods, front teeth digging into his lip. “I like being pushed and sort of, uh. Like if I said I couldn’t do something, or couldn’t stand something, she’d tell me to do it anyway, to be good for her.” Bucky’s hips shift on the couch and Steve honest to god feels his mouth water.

“You like being good?”

Steve nods, and then before Bucky can say whatever dirty thing that comes to mind: “I don’t want to be punished. It’s not that kind of thing. No reward system, or anything, I just like - “

When he doesn’t say anything, Bucky breaks in, hesitant. “Just like being told you’re good.” Steve nods again. “Yeah, Stevie, of course.”

“You can get a little mean.” Steve says. “If you want. I don’t want you to be an asshole, but - just - god, this is difficult.”

Bucky breathes in, and he looks like he’s calculating - hesitating again, like he knows what Steve is thinking but doesn’t want to push his luck. “I think - “ he begins slowly, “I think I might know what you mean.” His eyes flutter, tongue between his teeth. “Like if I said - if I said that the fact that you apparently need a dick in you every once in a while to keep you running makes me want to fuck you until you cry, would that be okay?” Steve has to close his eyes. The simmer in his stomach shoots down between his legs, makes his thighs clench up and press together. Bucky breathes out, heavily. “Last thing,” He says, and taps his Stark prosthetic, sound dull against the foam cover, “d’ya want this on or off?” Steve blinks, baffled - the thought that he had any say in it hadn’t crossed his mind. He shrugs.

“Would you be more comfortable with it off?”

“You don’t got a preference?”

The notion that Bucky wouldn’t be the hottest person Steve has ever seen in any situation is laughable, but Steve doesn’t show it on his face. “No preference. Whatever makes most sense to you, I’m good either way.” Then Bucky narrows his eyes like he’s thinking hard, like he’s measuring up the logistics. His hand flexes, little electric motors making the movement smooth, he looks Steve up and down and that - that makes Steve fight real hard not to squirm.

“I think I’m leaving it on. You’re an all-hands on deck kinda guy I imagine.”

Steve’s face is on fire, but he can’t help but smile as well and says “You gonna show me a good time, sailor?” Which is such a stupid, corny thing to say, but Bucky smiles back at him in that way of his, secretive and friendly and soft, like this is just another day. Which it is, except then he leans across the couch and kisses Steve and there are honest-to-god butterflies in Steve’s chest. It’s a short kiss. Bucky breaks away quickly, softly, and his breath shakes a little when he speaks up.

“I was gonna wait ‘till tomorrow.” He says, and Steve shakes his head which makes him laugh. “I was. Give you a change to think this through. But you’re right here, squirming and smiling and blushing, and asking me to be mean to you and to take care of you and you _have_ to tell me if you wanna wait - “

“I don’t, I don’t wanna wait. Let’s go. Right now. Hop to it.”

Bucky laughs, his hand pressing against the side of Steve’s face. “Okay.” He says, teasing grin and shining eyes. “Your place or mine?” Steve pulls him up with a hand fisted in his collar.

They can’t stop kissing on their way to Steve’s bedroom, until they’ve stumbled through the door and stop at the foot of his bed, swaying on their feet. They break apart, and Bucky runs both hands over Steve’s neck, his chest, his shoulders. His pupils are big, giving him a dreamy, intense look that makes Steve a little breathless. “Different from when we were fourteen, huh?” He says, and Steve grins, his hands clenching in Bucky’s shirt. He pulls on it.

“Yeah,” he says, when Bucky takes it off, his eyes immediately searching out the muscles low on his abdomen. “You were all tongue, anyway.” Bucky puts a hand in the middle of his chest, the suggestion of a push more than the real thing, but Steve drops to the bed anyway, feeling excitement crawl up his throat as he moves towards the head of it. Bucky tips his head back and Steve knows that look - an I-know-something-you-don’t look, overbearing confidence in the lowered eyes and he shivers.

Bucky pulls on the string on his sweatpants with one hand, and says “I’ll show you all tongue” and it’s a such a line , but it makes Steve smile anyway. He lets himself be crowded backwards, until Bucky’s on top of him, hands and knees on either side, and they’re kissing again. Every swipe of Bucky’s tongue against his own makes chills run down his spine, makes his cock swell against the inside of his fly. Well. Maybe it is a bit like when they were fourteen, in that way. This kiss for a while, and Steve already knows, has known for a long time, that it could only feel like this with Bucky, this too-big feeling in his chest. It’s immediately obvious to him that the not-at-all-sexual-frustration maybe isn’t just sexual. He’s a romantic. Whatever. “Get your clothes off, sweetheart.” Bucky says against his mouth, bringing him back to the surface. “Wanna finger you.” And yeah, okay, romance can wait. Steve wrestles himself out of his clothes when Bucky takes his pants off, rifles through Steve’s bedside table. Bucky settles in between his legs and breathes out, long and unsteady.

“You still blush all over, huh.” He says and puts his hands on Steve’s thighs when they close, compulsively. Steve wants to feel embarrassed at how hard he is, but Bucky looks reverent when he touches his left hand to Steve’s cock, artificial fingers just as agile and bendy as his right. “You’re so fucking pretty.” He says on a breathy laugh, making Steve smile.

“Right back at you, pal.” Bucky rolls his eyes. He clicks the bottle of lube open, covers two fingers of his right hand. The first one goes in carefully, a smooth glide after Steve’s shower not that many hours before.

“If you ever let me do this again - “

“I will.”

“Don’t interrupt me, punk.” Bucky screws his finger in, crooks it upwards and Steve smiles. “If you ever let me do this again, you gotta let me eat you out, baby.” Steve moans, breathes out a broken jesus christ . “Yeah? Gonna let me get my mouth on you?”

“Jesus, Bucky, obviously. Give me another.”

“Say please.”

“Fuck you. Please.” Bucky throws his head back and laughs brightly, and the next finger goes in with more of a stretch. Steve can feels his brow furrow as he fights not to rock his hips too much into it. Bucky’s mumbling encouraging things - it makes some kind of hysterical sense, that he talks the most in bed, all that sardonic, cynical humor fading away to this. “You look good” he whispers, slowly jerking Steve off while he presses his fingers in, circling and stretching and scissoring. Shushing noises and _look at you_ and _good boy_ and it’s perfect - even when Bucky’s not pressing the pads of his fingers against his prostate, the stretch of it alone makes Steve sigh in content, wiggling his hips happily.

Bucky narrows his eyes, and there’s a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. Steve can feel something snarky coming. "Whoever else you've fucked is an idiot, by the way. It's all over your face." There it is. Steve squirms against his hand.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You got a serious ‘fuck-me-up’ look about you, anyone ever tell you that? A guy could get all sorts of nasty thoughts being on the receiving ends of those eyes.” It’s true. Sam calls him pretty boy too often, _altar boy looking motherfucker_ on one memorous occasion. Steve smiles, bashful, and Bucky rolls his eyes. “Not that many guys I guess. You got a shitty track record, sugar.

"That's - that's kind of rude, Barnes." Bucky laughs his dry little chuckle and curves his fingers, pressing his thumb to Steve's taint and oh, _oh_ -

"Anyone who looks at you without wanting to bend you over is missing some serious pieces of the puzzle."

"I guess that makes you smarter than the rest, huh? Maybe I do got low standards."

"It makes me a lucky fucking guy, you punk." Bucky's eyes flicker back to his hand, and Steve wants to both spread his legs and cover himself at the focus in them, that lazer-pointed stare that makes him shiver in his skin. Bucky adds more lube and the next time he talks it's low, like Steve doesn’t need to hear it. "Should tell Wilson about this, finally shut him up." Steve moans a little too loud and blushes furiously at the thought of Sam seeing him like this, of Bucky talking about this, about being used as a prize, a point to win an argument. Bucky's eyes snap up and he cocks his head to one side, and for a second Steve thinks he's going to back pedal, or apologize but - god, Bucky's so _good_ , he understands Steve _so well,_ so perfectly, he loves Bucky so _much_ -

"Don't want Sam to know about this, huh." His tone curls somewhere behind Steve's ribs, hot and shameful and simmering, knocking Steve closer to the edge. Bucky smiles. "See if you can fucking stop me, Rogers. He'd lose his mind if he knew I got here first." Bucky lets go of Steve’s cock, hitches Steve’s leg up a little further to rest his foot against his bicep and bites a pink mark on his lower thigh. “Think I should let him fuck you stupid? Bet he could make you beg.”

 _It’s really not that hard,_ Steve thinks, but it’s not like Bucky needs more ammunition.

“Oh, jesus, oh - I don’t think Sam is - _Bucky_ \- don’t think he’s into me, if I’m being honest.” Bucky pulls out, shushes Steve’s hurt little noise at the empty feeling. Covering his fingers with lube again and rubbing a third one alongside the other two, he looks back, bends forward to lean on his left arm next to Steve’s head. With that little smile fixed on his face, dark and promising, he reaches back down to prepare Steve with sure, circular motions, pressing in, stretching.

“You don’t think he’d wanna give it to you? I think he’d fuck you up, Rogers. I think he’d make you get on your knees real fucking fast. Look me in the eye and tell me you wouldn’t say _please_ and _thank you_ just to get a chance to choke on it.”

Steve breathes in, voice caught on a sob halfway up his throat. Any other time he’d say no and mean it, Sam is his friend, and he’s too fucking gone when it comes to Bucky to do anything like that, but Bucky’s words make him clench around his fingers, moaning. He shakes his head, hitching out a teary, shaky sigh. Bucky laughs, and _oh god_ -

“You’re a fucking liar.” It’s sounds so indifferent, mean , and shame bubbles up in his chest, red-hot and aching and it’s so good, it’s everything he asked for and he’s crying for real now, his cheeks are wet and the build-up in his stomach feels like fireworks, like heaven and -

\- and then Bucky stops moving, still leaning over him. When he speaks this time, his voice is different. “Hey,” he says, left hand pressing against Steve’s face. “You good?” Steve rolls his hips against Bucky’s hand, not even bothering to choke back a sob.

“Don’t stop, Bucky, _please_ \- “

“Mandatory check-in, Rogers. Come back to me.” Petulant, he blinks the tears out of his eyes, and Bucky’s laugh at his pout is light, relieved. He taps a foam-covered finger against Steve’s bottom lip. “There you are. Didn’t wanna fuck you up too bad.”

“I would’ve let you.”

“Of course you would have. That’s why I’m the grown-up of the two of us.”

“That’s laughable.”

“Yeah? Maybe I’m just jealous. Fuck Wilson, he gets jack-shit.” Bucky rocks his fingers in again, making Steve’s laugh break in the middle, taper off in a whine. “You didn’t answer the question, brat. Are you okay?”

“I was about to come, I am - oh, please, Bucky - “ What he lost before, the climb, comes crashing back too quickly, settling in as a tremor in his thighs. He clenches his hands in his pillow, eyes screwed shut. He can feel Bucky hovering above him, close and warm.

"You wanna come, honey? Am I gonna make you come?" Bucky’s hand is moving fast, three fingers pressing in and curving up and Steve can’t keep still.

"Can I - let me come, oh, Bucky -"

"Christ almighty, you're too much. Do you need a hand?” Bucky rubs a thumb along Steve’s cock, doesn’t even hold it, but it’s everything he needs -

“No, this is good, this is perfect, let me come, let me come, let me come, please -”

Bucky sounds breathless when he answers. “'Course you can come, baby, come on." It’s a fucking crescendo, and it’s the best thing he’s felt in so long, sudden and quick and explosive and Steve is so fucking glad they live alone. His neck strains with the arch it’s in, and his throat feels raw, pushing out abrupt gasps of oh, oh, oh when Bucky keeps fucking him through it, fingering him with nasty, wet sounds that make Steve’s face burn even through the haze.

“Did you - wait, holy shit.” Bucky says, and even now Steve barks out a laugh, scratchy and a little pained. His fingers slow down, and Steve hums, rocking back on them. “How you feeling, sweetheart?” He blinks his eyes open, breathes out.

“Real good, Bucky. Jesus.” He does, he feels sated, like his itch has been scratched or something. He looks down and he didn’t - yeah. the skin of his stomach is wet with sweat and precome, but that’s all. Bucky looks at him, awed, like he didn’t know he could do that, but as he goes to pull his fingers out Steve grabs his wrist.

Bucky looks at him, worried. “You good?” He asks, and Steve nods, quickly, intensely.

“So good. Super good.“ Honest answers only. They’re grown-ups. “Thought you were gonna fuck me.” He says, which is not the most elegant, but he did just come untouched. Bucky smiles, amused, and leans forward to kiss him with his fingers still inside.

“You sure?” He says, nudging their noses together. “I’m good with whatever you want.”

“I wanna get fucked.” Honest answers. He can see the bob of Bucky’s adam’s apple and preens a little. “Condoms are in the bedside table, too.” Bucky gets to moving immediately. It’s nice having a little bit of power even now. His mouth waters a little when Bucky pulls his boxers off, dick bobbing up against his stomach. Incredibly enough, Bucky’s blushing as he gets himself ready - Bucky likes to run his mouth, and he’s real good at it, too, but it’s not difficult to call him out on his bullshit, allowing Steve to appreciate that even, full-face blush.

Bucky leans over him with one hand, the other curling around his cock and Steve’s sucks in his stomach in anticipation. At the first press against his hole, the solid give that wasn’t there with Bucky’s fingers, his eyes fall closed, face slack. Bucky moans as he presses in.

"Aw, look at that. That’s what I thought. Got a dick in you and you get all sweet, ain't that right?"

Steve groans, squirming.

"Don't be embarrassed, babydoll, come on. Does it feel good? Yeah?"

Steve can feel himself nod - words feel difficult and heavy in his throat, but he forces out an "uhuh" and Bucky makes a cooing sound, stroking the back of his hand against his cheek. "Yeah, me too. You're so good, Stevie, I can't believe you're letting me do this. Gimme a smile, huh? Come on, let me see you." Forcing his eyes open feels monumental, the entire world too zeroed in on the hot, aching stretch between his legs, the buzzing inside of him, the heat pooling in his belly and in his cock, but when Bucky's face swims into focus, his grin happens all by itself. It feels wide and dreamy and stupid on his face, but Bucky smiles back, running one hand over Steve’s shoulder. “There you go. There you go, baby, good boy. Put your hands on my shoulders, okay? Or around my neck, hold on to me.” Steve folds two shaking hands around the back of Bucky’s neck and Bucky begins rocking, slow at first but probably spurred on by Steve’s senseless little _yeah, yeah, yeahs_ he picks up speed, turning it into quick, shallow strokes of his hips. Steve bares his throat, brow furrowing - he’s missed this.

"You just wanna take it, don’t you?” Sharp, bright humiliation, burning in his chest. “That's all you need, isn’t it?"

 _“Yeah._ Bucky, oh-”

"Yeah, sweetheart, that’s good. Keep saying my name like that." It’s difficult to see, his eyes fluttering with how fucking good he’s feeling, but he can pick up on Bucky looking down between them and arousal spikes in his stomach, imagining the crude picture of Bucky’s cock pumping into him. “If I’d known this is what it - fucking, _god_ \- what it takes to keep you happy I’d’ve dicked you down years ago. God, you look pretty when you’re getting fucked. Kinda hungry for it, huh?” Steve moans, nails digging into Bucky’s shoulders and his dick twitches so hard it jumps against his stomach. “Yeah? You need it, Rogers?”

“I do, I - _yeah._ ”

“Gonna say it back to me, honey? Tell me what you need?”

He chokes on his breath, eyes flying open. “I - _Bucky_ .” Bucky stops completely and sits up on his knees, pulling out in the process. Steve’s hands drop down to the mattress. He can feel his hole clenching around nothing and Bucky sees it too, mouth opening in a silent moan. He ghosts the tips of his fingers over Steve’s inner thighs, teasing. He slips the tip of his dick back inside, just enough to hold him open and then rocks back, and Steve wants to _die_.

“Come on, babydoll.” Bucky says. “Come on, baby, be good, let me give you what you need.”

There are new tears on Steve’s cheek again when he chokes out: “To - to get fucked, your dick, I need your dick, put it in me, _please_ , I need - “ Bucky lets him ramble as he rearranges, drapes Steve’s legs over his.

“‘I need your dick’ he says. You’re killing me.” He pushes back in and Steve sighs, lets himself fall back to that full feeling, the sharp rocking against his bed. Bucky’s eyes are flickering, torn between Steve’s face and where they’re joined together, hips snapping fucked out sounds from his mouth. Steve raises his shaking arms to make grabby hands at Bucky’s chest, not quite reaching.

"Come - closer, kiss, please - " Bucky makes a hurt little sound high in his throat, and ducks down to press their mouths together - his teeth catch hard on Steve's upper lip and new tears spring forward in his eyes, a sharp burst of pain pulsating under his nose. They’re so close now, Bucky’s legs folded underneath him and their torsos pressed together. Bucky's new position make his hips slow to a grind, and the width of his body makes the stretch in Steve's inner thighs ache and burn in a way that makes him groan, drawn-out and hurting, dragging his nails over Bucky's shoulders.

"God." Bucky whispers, hovering just above Steve's open mouth. "You're too much. You make me crazy, Rogers, it’s awful. You have no idea.” It sets something on fire in Steve’s chest, something that has nothing to do with sex, so he whines, low, and kisses him again, keeping him close. The new pace is wonderful, feels like lava and molten gold, burning and excruciating and slow. He can feel everything, toes curling against Bucky’s back, hands curling in his hair. He feels close to coming for the second time, heady pressure between his legs.

“You close?” He whispers on a shaky exhale and Bucky nods with their foreheads pressed together. He reaches down between them, curls a hand around Steve’s dick.

He sounds awed when he speaks again. “Steve, baby, sugar, _oh_ , you’re a miracle.” His hand starts moving, punching a breath out of Steve - he’s not over-sensitive, but overwhelmed, strung-out on feeling good. Bucky’s hips keep their slow rhythm, but he puts more force behind them, thrusting so hard that Steve feels himself jostled up the bed. “You gonna come on my dick this time? Get it all over yourself?” Steve whimpers, tears gathering around his ears, the hair in his temples wet.

"I can’t, too much -" Careening, too fast and too slow at the same time, the world zoning into Bucky and the control he has -

“Don’t you wanna thank me? Show me some gratitude? I thought you wanted to be good, Rogers.”

“I do, I do - “ He can feel the precipice ahead, like something he’s going to fall off and it’s almost terrifying, even though he knows what the fall is going to be-

"Then come, show me how much you love it. God , you're so hard, I know you can do it, honey, you can come-”

When Steve comes again, he feels it everywhere. It spreads out, warm and cold, and prickling - his legs curl up against his chest, fall apart, and the inside of his mouth is dry with how long it’s been open, sucking in deep, heaving lungfuls of air. It’s less explosive, almost too much. He can’t hear Bucky, going deaf for a few seconds, but can feel the bite on his throat, the way Bucky’s thrusts slow down even more, and harden impossibly, the now painful smack of hip-bones on inner thighs. His eyes roll back, tension ebbs and rolls through his entire body before seeping out, out and away. Sated, satisfied. He’s in heaven. There is nothing for a while, even when he gets his hearing back. Just the sweat and come on his skin cooling, and Bucky moving against him, pulling out, moving away, coming back. The soft rustle of bedsheets.

There’s a wet washcloth on his stomach, his chest. Bucky presses close-mouthed kisses over his collarbones for a few minutes. His eyelashes, his scruff, tickle and itch against Steve's overheated skin and he squirms

“Hey, handsome.” Bucky says, and now that Steve is back to the land of the living, he shivers at the drawl of his voice, the fucked-out, tender hoarseness somewhere low in his throat. “How you feeling?” Steve stretches, rolls onto his side so they’re curved towards each other, half moons in the damp, rumpled bed. _Vulnerable,_ he thinks. _Raw. Please touch me again._ It must show on his face, or he must wait too long, because Bucky sits up a little so he can touch Steve with his right hand. “Hey, Stevie. That was a lot. Are you okay?” There’s indecision in his voice, and an insecurity that sounds miserable so Steve grabs his hand, presses it to his mouth in a barely-there-kiss. He nods.

“I’m good, you were really good, it was - jesus, Buck, it was everything I needed.” Bucky smiles, pleased, but there’s still a furrow between his brows. Steve continues. “I just. Sustained physical contact is good for - “ He doesn’t finish the sentence before Bucky wrestles the blanket out under them and pulls Steve down on top of him, both arms over his upper back. Steve sighs into his chest, shakily, and presses the side of his face against his pectoral, the bu-bump of his heart a physical feeling under the skin.

“If you think I’m letting you out of bed anytime soon you’re crazy, Rogers.” Steve smiles, fingers twitching against Bucky’s side. “You need anything? Snacks, water?”

“Soon. This is good, for now.” He closes his eyes for a while. Bucky starts drawing patterns on his back but he’s too tired to try and discern the shapes, his body heavy with self-satisfaction and a strange bone-deep happiness, never wanting to move despite the bed sheets’ clamminess against his skin. He presses a kiss to the underside of Bucky’s chin and clears his throat. “Hey, uh. Buck. Thanks for this.” He feels Bucky’s smile rather than sees it.

“I didn’t just do this for you, you know. Since when have you known me to be a selfless person?”

“You’ve always been selfless person, Buck.”

“Let’s not argue in bed, honey.” Sighing a little, Steve lies back down, nustling into his chest. There’s a breath stuck in Bucky’s throat for a second before he starts speaking again. “I’m serious, though, I - I’m here for you, man, always, and if you - I’d get it if you’d wanna keep it like this, so I’m all good, but if you were up for it - I don’t know if it’d even work, and we’ve known each other for so long, and it’s not like you don’t have other - “

“Buck.” Steve says, suddenly, hearing Bucky’s heart double-time it against his cheek, keeping up with the blooming rhythm behind his own rib-cage. He keeps his voice soft, mindless, humming in thought. It feels a little like a leap of faith, but also like it’s the only possible leap in front of them. They’ve never been conventional. “I think we should date.”

Bucky’s hands tighten around his shoulder and in his hair and then his entire body relaxes, bleeds into the bed. “Yeah, that’s - that’s a hell of an idea, Stevie.”

  


**Author's Note:**

> hope you liked it! Title from Dinner and Diatribes by Hozier  
> I did some research on artificial limbs, as I don't have any myself, and found that if people keep them on during sex, it's usually bc the position requires it. Edit: Amputee rep in this fic are not representative of real life. Author is not intimately familiar with it. Let me know if anything is wrong/problematic etc. I imagine Steve and Bucky are tight with tony stark, and the arm looks a lil like these ones . So k i n d of like actual functional (and hella expensive) robotic arms, but with a Stark flair to it.  
> *not exactly inspired by captaindumbass' work but like. y'all. she pegs y'all. you gotta read that. you go t t a*  
> Edited 01/08/2019


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